


This Tainted Love

by patchfire



Series: Queer Historical AU [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: 1980s, AIDS-related deaths, Alternate Universe - Historical, HIV/AIDS, Historically accurate homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, San Francisco, School Reunion, The Castro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:09:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2138157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen years after their last three years of high school, Puck and Kurt have a life in San Francisco: jobs, friends, hobbies. The year is 1982, the neighborhood is the Castro, and AIDS slowly brings Puck and Kurt back in contact with people they left behind in 1969. Sequel to Some Good for You and Me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Tainted Love

**Author's Note:**

> This story demanded to be written, but I was continually worried that it wasn't adequate to tell the story of San Francisco in the early 1980s. No single story could, in fact. This is one fictional sliver of part of the story of that extraordinarily horrible and difficult time in San Francisco and the Castro. 
> 
> Much thanks always to raving_liberal, and to my artist lunaticaa for the gorgeous art!

[](http://imgur.com/SdU5rwI)

_Burt doesn’t notice anything odd when he wakes up that Saturday morning. The boys are clearly sleeping in, and he drinks his coffee in utter silence. When Finn does come upstairs, he eats quickly, jumping when the phone rings and then hurrying out the door. He shouts over his shoulder something about Mike’s house, and Burt yells after him._

_“What about your brother?”_

_Finn either doesn’t hear him or pretends not to hear him, driving away and looking almost relieved. Neither Burt nor Carole realize Kurt is gone until lunchtime. They call down and get no response, then call again, and Burt decides to go down and wake Kurt up. The reality is that Kurt’s bed is neatly made, his pillow is missing, and when Burt looks around, he realizes almost all of Kurt’s belongings are missing. Kurt is gone._

_Burt spends the afternoon trying to call people to figure out what’s going on. He calls Mike’s house, to talk to Finn, but Mike’s father says Mike isn’t there. He calls Rachel Berry’s house, speaking to both of Rachel’s parents, who don’t know anything, before talking to Rachel, who won’t tell him anything but seems to know more than she is saying. Rachel hangs up in a hurry, muttering something about placing another telephone call, and Burt wonders who she knows to call that he doesn’t. Burt almost swallows his distaste and his pride and calls the Puckerman household, since Kurt and Finn had been close with the kid. He doesn’t, though, settling for calling Artie Abrams and then Quinn Fabray. Neither of them knows anything, and both of them seem genuinely shocked at the news that Kurt is gone._

_When Finn arrives home, five minutes before dinner, Burt waits until Finn washes his hands to say anything. “Your brother’s gone.”_

_Finn jumps and looks guilty. “Uh… yeah,” he finally says._

_“Is this about the draft?” Burt demands. “Why did you let him leave?”_

_“_ Let _him?” Finn says incredulously. “I wouldn’t have been able to stop him even if I had tried to.” He looks conflicted for several seconds before he sighs and continues. “No, it’s not about the draft.”_

_“It’s not a weird protest about me saying he shouldn’t be friends with the Puckerman kid, is it?”_

_“No, not really,” Finn says, sitting down at the table. “This looks great. Thanks, Mom.”_

_“You’re welcome, honey. Burt, I know you like beets.”_

_“Fine,” Burt says, taking a small spoonful of the vegetable. “Not_ really _?”_

_“Kurt left with Puck,” Finn says as he serves himself beets alongside his Swiss steak. “He and Puck own the microbus together.”_

_“_ With _Puck?” Burt says, sounding enraged, and Finn shoves a bite of meat into his mouth hurriedly, nodding a little. “Finn, son, I know you don’t mean what that sounds like.”_

_“Burt, let the boy eat.”_

_“I need to know where Kurt is,” Burt says._

_“He’s gone,” Finn says when he finishes chewing. “He left with Puck, and he’s going to go to college somewhere that’s not Ohio. And_ yeah _, they’re together.”_

_“Together,” Burt repeats, disgust coloring his voice. “That Puckerman kid seduced my son!”_

_“Uh, no,” Finn says, looking almost angry. “I made_ sure _that neither of them was being pressured or anything. They’re happy. And they’re going somewhere that they can_ be _happy.”_

_“Happy,” Burt says with a sneer. “How long have you known about this? You should have told me, so I could have put a stop to it. Where are they going? They can’t have gotten too far. I’ll go after them.”_

_“Burt, honey, calm down,” Carole says._

_“Kurt’s eighteen, and so is Puck.” Finn lifts his chin. “I didn’t tell you because you didn’t need to know.”_

_“Do you actually_ support _this perversion?”_

_“Yes!”_

_Burt and Finn don’t talk directly for weeks, but no one hits anyone else, and Carole manages to keep the peace._

 

Puck shuts the binder on his desk, putting it on the shelf before turning on the answering machine. “And that’s another day,” he says cheerfully. 

“Ready for the weekend?” Allan asks. Puck still isn’t entirely sure Allan is old enough to be working legally, much less living on his own, but his ID looks real enough, and it could just be that Puck’s getting old, now that he’s not only passed thirty but turned thirty-one. 

“What we get of one, anyway,” Puck says. Between his own nine to one schedule on Saturday and any interviews Kurt may have set up, their weekend is really only Friday nights until midnight or so, and Saturday nights through Sunday around noon or later. The other side to that is that they take weekend trips every couple of months, and longer trips at least three times a year. “We’ll probably head down to the Lion tonight.” 

“Couples,” Allan says with an almost wistful sigh, and Puck laughs a little as he turns out the lights and Allan covers his typewriter. “Any interesting stories that Kurt’s working on that I should look for?” 

Puck shakes his head, turning out the final overhead light and pulling out his keys. “No. More health articles. I think this week is the Scarsdale Diet, and next week, they want to do a feature on Diet Coke and the future of artificial sweeteners.” 

“Tell Kurt he should do an article about that new Jane Fonda Workout tape,” Allan suggests as they leave and Puck locks the door. 

“Yeah, I half-expect that’ll be next month,” Puck admits. “Have a good weekend.” 

“You too!” Allan calls back, already heading down the street to the right as Puck turns left, into the heart of the Castro. The neighborhood has changed since they got there in early September of 1969, but it’s still home, and Puck nods at a few people he recognizes, waves across the street at a few more, and stops to have several short conversations before he makes it home to their apartment. 

“Kurt?” he calls, as he unlocks and opens the door. 

“Bedroom!” Kurt calls back, and Puck takes an extra minute after emptying his pockets to stop in the kitchen and get two glasses of water. 

Living together had been an adjustment, but not the kind they had expected. They had similar standards of cleanliness, they liked the same amount of knick-knacks and clutter and books, and they even slept on opposite sides of the bed. It had taken longer to learn to read each other at the end of the day. When Kurt had had a long class, an upsetting group meeting, or a rude professor, he had immediately gone to flop onto the bed when he got home. That pattern hadn’t changed when Kurt graduated and started working as a reporter, which is the reason that Puck carefully sets the glasses down on their nightstand before sitting on the bed next to Kurt. 

It had taken Puck awhile to figure it out, but he had, in the end. 

“Rough day?” 

“I was supposed to interview two people today,” Kurt begins, and Puck knows the answer before Kurt says it. “One of them slipped into a coma last night. The other one had a seizure five minutes into the interview. I left while they were still working on him. It wasn’t my place, but I don’t know—I don’t think he made it.” Kurt rolls over and sits up, taking one glass of water from the nightstand without a word, though he smiles briefly at Puck. “And of course it’s not as bad here as New York. _Yet._ ” 

“Maybe it won’t be,” Puck says, even though he doesn’t really believe it. 

“If wishes came true,” Kurt says sadly. 

“Yeah.” Puck sighs. “I’ve booked too many ‘miracle cure’ trips to believe that, and by too many, I mean any is too many.” 

“Yes.” Kurt shakes his head. “I promise I won’t write an article disparaging you for booking the trips, but I swear. They should save their money that they’re spending on the quack treatment and take an extra week to see other places.” 

“Probably,” Puck agrees. “I’ve tried to get a couple of people to at least go see the Mayan ruins or something.” 

“Look at you, knowing all that geography these days,” Kurt teases, then drains his glass and picks up the second one, repeating the process. “Are we still meeting Adrian and Marvin tonight?” 

“Last I heard,” Puck says with a nod. “I think Clay and John might drop by, too.” 

“Well, that’ll be fun. Do you want to eat something here, or go out?” 

“Let’s just grab a sandwich or something next door,” Puck says after a moment. “We can make dinner here tomorrow night if we want to. Maybe Italian?” 

“Only if you try out that cookbook that one group brought you back as a thank you,” Kurt retorts, standing up and starting to change his clothes. 

“I knew you had an ulterior motive,” Puck says with a grin. “Allan says you should write an article about _Jane Fonda’s Workout_ , by the way.” 

“Oh, does he?” Kurt snorts out a laugh as he pulls on a fresh shirt. “I suppose I could always pitch it. It would be a fluffier piece than what I’ve been writing, at least.” 

“Yeah, that’s true.” Puck changes his own clothes, still buttoning his shirt when Kurt comes up behind him and runs his hands down Puck’s chest. “You trying to make us late?” 

“Late, early,” Kurt says teasingly. “I think I should have an early assignment, which means we need to leave even earlier than usual, is all.” 

Puck laughs and turns around, kissing Kurt for a few moments before responding. “I think they’ll know exactly what we’re really going to do.” 

Kurt grins. “Yes, but saying it out loud is so déclassé. At least we’ll pretend to be polite.” 

 

_“So everyone’s here!”_

_“Not everyone,” Mike says. “You’d think you’d remember that Matt_ died _, Rachel.”_

_“Everyone living, then.”_

_“No, still not everyone,” Finn says stubbornly._

_“Finn,” Rachel says, exhaling loudly. “We’re not going to discuss this. This is a chance for our winning glee club to get together, five years after some of us graduated!”_

_“And that’s great, but…” Finn trails off at the glares some of the younger ones are giving both him and Rachel, and he shakes his head. “Just don’t pretend you invited everyone.”_

_“I invited everyone I could find,” Rachel says primly, and Finn shakes his head again. He’s heard a few stories over the years, about Rachel’s experimental college years, but the result of her own personal experimentation seemed to be a return to how she thought of herself in high school, just slightly more radicalized, and Finn guesses that she still is weirdly angry about being Kurt’s fake-girlfriend in high school._

_The glee club reunion is better than the regular five-year reunion, but Finn misses San Diego, misses his fiance, and doesn’t really like staying with his mom and Burt, since Burt refuses to act like Kurt exists or did exist. Finn tries to tell them how Kurt’s doing, what he and Puck are up to, in San Francisco, but they don’t want to hear about Kurt’s degree or his still relatively new job at the gay newspaper. They don’t want to hear about how Puck’s saving up money from his job at the travel agency to open his own travel agency. They don’t want to hear about how_ happy _Kurt and Puck are, or how awesome it was to see them when they met up in Santa Barbara a month ago, or when Finn and his fiance drove up to watch the Gay Pride Parade two months before that._

 _Finn has good friends in San Diego, sure, but the best part about San Diego is he’s not far from his brother and his best friend, and he still doesn’t understand, even after five years, why everyone else is and was so bothered by the two of them. They’re together, they’re happy, and they’re successful, and that doesn’t hurt anyone else._

 

Kurt and Puck spend the first two nights of Hanukkah with Finn and Annie, the two of them driving to San Francisco for a long weekend, and early on Christmas Eve morning, Kurt and Puck drive down to San Diego. 

After Christmas morning and stockings, the four of them go to see _Gandhi_ before heading to Christmas dinner at one of San Diego’s finest restaurants, at least according to Annie. The food is good, but the wine is even better, and they’re lingering over second and third glasses, well past dessert, when Finn looks somber for the first time since their arrival the previous afternoon. 

“How are things?” Finn asks softly. “With people you know, I mean?”

Puck isn’t surprised that Kurt’s taking another sip of wine instead of answering, and Puck sets his own glass down. “It feels like we’re hearing about someone else getting sick once a week or so,” he admits. “We got an invitation to Cleve’s party on New Year’s Eve, and I have to admit that I’m worried more about who won’t be there that should be there.” 

“Exactly,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “No one we know extremely well is sick yet, though we heard that a few people we knew, years ago, might be sick. I’m sure eventually we’ll find out. It’s terrifying, more because it seems to strike at random. At least it doesn’t seem to be airborne in any way.” 

“That’d be awful,” Finn says, shuddering a little. “What about you two? You both feel okay, right?” 

“Healthy as ever,” Puck says. 

“Maybe healthier, since all our friends and colleagues seem to be on new healthy eating plans,” Kurt says wryly. “I’ve been to more lunches with salads and soups in the last six months than I care to think of.” 

“At least it’s not that wheatgrass stuff Allan keeps bringing in,” Puck counters with a snort. 

“Seriously,” Finn says. “You’d tell me, right?” 

“We’d tell you,” Kurt says, his tone carrying an implied promise that Puck isn’t sure Kurt actually means. It’s easy to say they’d tell Finn, but if one of them really were ill, it’d be hard to make that initial phone call or say those first words. 

“Okay,” Finn says, nodding, but he appears a little skeptical, and Puck thinks that Finn probably understands that they’d have the best of intentions, at least. The conversation turns to other things, but Puck knows Finn, knows all of them, and he suspects that after Annie goes to work the following morning, Finn will find a way to talk to Kurt without Puck around, and vice versa. 

Sure enough, by ten the next morning, Puck finds himself driving to the supermarket, and after lunch, Kurt leaves in search of a few things at the nearby mall. 

“Kurt won’t tell me if it’s you, not really,” Finn says about five minutes after Kurt leaves, the two of them not really watching the television. “You won’t tell me if it’s Kurt. So if _you’re_ sick, can you let me know, somehow?” 

“If I ever tell you I’m rooting for the Cowboys, or for whoever is playing the Niners that week, that’ll be your code,” Puck finally says after a few moments’ thought. “That way I don’t have to say it. And…” He trails off, thinking again. “If I say I like the looks of the Cubs to win it, you’ll know I’m talking about Kurt.” 

“So you don’t have to say it. Okay,” Finn says, and he repeats it to himself a few times before he nods. “I just… if you need me and Annie, we’ll be there, okay? Even if we have to move.”

“You should move anyway,” Puck retorts. “We should get season tickets at Candlestick, and I can get you and Annie cheaper tickets for getaways out of San Francisco than any other airport.” 

“I don’t think San Francisco needs another aircraft mechanic,” Finn says, “as fun as season tickets sound.” 

“Pfft,” Puck says. “One day we’ll convince you. _Without_ any illnesses involved in any of the four of us.” 

 

Puck and Kurt arrive back in San Francisco on the morning of New Year’s Eve, having driven overnight and changed drivers at Bakersfield. They spend a few hours doing laundry and errands, then take an afternoon through early evening nap to get ready for the party that night. They’re meeting Adrian, Martin, Clay, and John at Flambeaux for dinner, and then they’re separating to various parties. Because of Kurt’s media connections and all of the volunteering they’ve done over the years, they hadn’t been surprised at the invitation to Cleve’s party, but Adrian and Clay each have their own circles, which is part of what Puck loves about the chorus, the chance to meet people from other small circles within the Castro. 

The downside that they’re starting to experience is that it means they recognize more names and know more people who are starting to get sick. 

When they arrive at the restaurant, Kurt tells the maitre’d their reservation, and they’re led back to a table where Clay and John are already seated. The four of them make their own wine selections while they wait for Adrian and Martin, talking about their holidays, and it’s nearly twenty-five minutes past the time of their reservation when Adrian and Martin finally do arrive. There’s a flurry of conversation, more wine selection, and some teasing about why they were late, but Adrian and Martin don’t really laugh, just changing the subject almost immediately. 

They’re all eating their entrees, almost done, when Puck happens to catch the angle of the light just right as Martin turns his head, and he hurriedly looks down at his plate, his breath catching. He could be wrong. It could be nothing. It doesn’t feel like nothing, though. It doesn’t really look like nothing, either. What it looks like is a lesion, covered up with makeup. Covered up _well_ , Puck acknowledges, and with the dim light in the restaurant, he almost didn’t see it. Almost didn’t make the connection between their lateness and their weird response to the teasing. 

Puck doesn’t say very much for the next five minutes or so, trying to reconcile what Martin looks like, what he looked like just a few weeks ago, and how he is afraid Martin will look before too much time passes. The waiter comes and offers dessert, which they all decline, and it’s a few minutes later still before they all leave the restaurant, heading in different directions and calling “Happy New Year!” to each other. 

They turn the block from the restaurant, walking back towards the Castro, before Kurt says anything else. “What is it?”

“I know what Martin and Adrian were late.”

Kurt frowns. “I’m assuming you mean not for the reasons we all suggested?”

“I just—I happened to look at the right time. The light, the way his head moved. Kurt, he was wearing makeup. On his forehead.” 

Kurt stops walking in the middle of the sidewalk, and when Puck looks at him, Kurt’s hand is covering his mouth, and he’s shaking his head. “No,” he finally says. “No, that’s not—it’s not fair.”

“I know,” Puck says, feeling tears come to his eyes. “I know.” 

“And we…” Kurt trails off and looks around them. “Tomorrow,” he says. “We’ll have to pretend until tomorrow. It’s not our story to tell.” 

“It’s not our story, but it’s _our_ story,” Puck says, gesturing up and down the street. “How many other people are having this same discussion tonight?” 

“Tomorrow,” Kurt repeats quietly, and Puck squeezes his hand in acknowledgment, dropping the subject as they finish walking to Cleve’s. 

The party is loud enough and fun enough and exciting enough that Puck does actually forget about Martin and Adrian for awhile. There’s music and dancing and a few people they haven’t seen in months, but when the party starts to wind down and voices get more somber, Puck knows what they’re discussing. Before Kurt and Puck leave, they’ve been pressed into volunteering again, this time for the Foundation, and as much as Puck knows they’ve both tried to avoid it, they knew it would happen. 

They fall into bed in the early morning, only waking up for a late brunch with a few of Kurt’s coworkers, and then they walk slowly around the Castro, most stores closed and most people still sleeping off the night before. 

“So, Martin,” Kurt finally says. “We’re going to lose Martin.” 

Puck tries to argue, because there are people who are sick who are still alive. It’s not a one hundred percent foregone conclusion. It feels like it is, though, and he can’t bring himself to actually say the words. They feel like lies, lies to make themselves feel better, but lies that will make them feel worse in the end, and all Puck finally says is a heavy, slow “yeah.” 

“I don’t want to watch this. I don’t want to watch any of this. Seventy-eight and seventy-nine were hard enough to cover,” Kurt says. “And my god, the _election_ in eighty. And now this. So much of this, and I’ll have to write another goddamned story about another man whose own parents won’t even know he’s dead!” 

Kurt’s voice has gotten louder as he talks, and Puck doesn’t say anything, just pulls Kurt to him and lets him shake for a while. It’s true, too true; most of the men in the Castro are estranged from their families. Some have contact with a sibling, more often sisters, but some brothers, like Finn. The fact of the matter is that for some people who are sick, their families won’t know or seemingly care until the sickness is over. 

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says after a few moments, pulling back and dabbing at his eyes. “I just—”

“I know,” Puck says. “I know.” It doesn’t really bother him in the same way that it does Kurt. Puck knew from the time he was eight or nine that he would end up leaving, and he had set out very deliberately not to have a close relationship with either his mom or his sister, so that they wouldn’t miss him and he wouldn’t miss them. Kurt had never been that kind of person, though, and the family that he and his dad had managed to build with Finn and Carole had, Puck thinks, made it feel even worse to leave. 

The fact that Burt never asks Finn about Kurt is the part that’s the worst, though, Puck knows. 

“We should probably start planning ahead,” Kurt says, straightening as they start to walk down the sidewalk again. “Eventually they’ll tell us, and then they’ll need our help.”

“Yeah,” Puck says, but there’s an unsettled feeling in his chest, like this is far from the last time they’re going to hear bad news in 1983. 

 

More bad news hits just a few weeks later, with the news about someone else in the Chorus. Kurt and Puck start volunteering at the Foundation, just like they promised at Cleve’s New Year’s Eve party, and it’s both harder and easier than hearing about people they know. Harder, because of the sheer volume of calls. Easier, because they aren’t people they can picture. 

At the end of February, Puck has his first and, he hopes, only experience spotting the signs before the person himself does. He’s at work, filing tickets and making notes for an April promotion, when he raises his head to ask Allen to type something. He freezes, mouth half-open, when he realizes there’s something behind Allen’s ear, and writes it down to tell Allen later, instead. 

His eyes keep returning to Allen’s head, studying the spot there, and he can’t decide what it is. It could be nothing, he tells himself, but he finds himself staring while he stands near the coffee pot, and by the end of the day, he decides that he needs to say something. 

“Hey, Allen?” Puck says quietly as they’re getting ready to leave. 

“Yeah? Do you need something else typed before we go?”

Puck shakes his head. “It’s probably nothing, so don’t get worried, but use a mirror and a flashlight or get a friend to check out that mole behind your ear, okay?”

“Mole?” Allen’s eyes widen and he puts his hands to his ears, feeling around, which confirms to Puck that Allen had no idea it was there. “Oh, okay. Sure. Thanks.” His hand stays on the spot, though, fingering it, and he looks scared. Puck feels a little scared, too, and he goes home feeling like something just ended. Allen was the first employee he could afford to hire after starting his own place, and when Allen calls in the next day, Puck knows the answer to what the spot was. 

 

 _“Everyone that RSVP’d yes is here, so let’s begin,” Rachel says, looking sharply at Finn. “I can’t_ force _people to come.”_

_“Yeah, I’m sure they felt really welcome,” Finn says flatly. “With your list of rules.”_

_“Not everyone’s comfortable with… displays of affection,” Rachel says stiffly, and Finn rolls his eyes, sighing a little._

_Hiram Berry leaving Shelby Corcoran Berry in early 1976 for another_ man _, and moving to New York City, had erased whatever progress Rachel might have made in her attitudes towards gay men, and it had taken a year of letters and the occasional long-distance telephone call for Finn to make sure Kurt and Puck were at least extended an invitation to their ten year class reunion, and the glee club one as well._

 _Both invitations had arrived with a list of ‘suggestions’ for ‘appropriate displays of affection’, which Finn had_ not _been aware of until after Puck called him and read them out loud. The next time Finn had visited, they’d burned them in the fireplace together, and Finn offered to boycott both out of solidarity._

 _Kurt and Puck had insisted that Finn go, though, so he was there, waiting for the larger reunion the next night and attending the evening’s get-together more to avoid Burt’s continued avoidance of the topic of Kurt than anything else. Everyone at the reunion does the same thing that they did five years earlier: avoid the topic of Kurt and Puck altogether._

 

Two months later, Pucks picks up the ringing phone. “Whisked Away Travel Agency.” It’s still a few minutes before they open, but since he’s in the office, it won’t hurt to answer. 

“Yes, hello. I hope I have the right number,” the oddly familiar voice on the other end says, even though the call also has the crackling, echoey sound of a long-distance call. “I’m looking for Noah Puckerman?”

“This is Noah Puckerman,” Puck says slowly. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“I—maybe this was a bad idea,” the caller says in a rush. “It’s just, my dad, and I didn’t know who to ask, and—” She cuts herself, taking two loud breaths. “It’s Rachel Berry. From Lima.” 

“Rachel Berry.” Puck sits down heavily. “I… why are you calling me?” 

“It’s probably wrong of me, but my dad—I know you talk to Finn, so I know you know about my dad—he’s sick. He’s in New York City, not too far from me, and he wouldn’t meet with me for the last several weeks at all, and now I’ve found out he’s sick. With this new disease.” 

“Oh, God, Rachel,” Puck says, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.” 

“You know what I’m talking about. What treatments are there? His doctor says San Francisco is doing a much better job!” 

“We have a dedicated hospital ward,” Puck says. “And we have a lot of community support and support from the City. Feinstein’s not perfect, but she’s better than Koch. We don’t have any better treatments.” Puck softens his voice. “I’m sorry.”

“I finally convinced him to meet me for dinner last night,” Rachel says, and Puck can tell she’s crying quietly. “He has the… sarcomas, I think he called them. The sarcomas on his forehead and hands and neck, and he says there are more that are hidden by his clothes. But that cancer isn’t supposed to kill people!” 

“Yeah, Kurt interviewed some of the researchers at General; it’s some kind of immune breakdown, they think,” Puck says. “The Kaposi’s is just a symptom, more or less.” He closes his eyes, trying to block out the images of Bobbi and Jack and so many others they know. 

“Oh my God! You aren’t sick, are you?” Rachel says. “Or Kurt?”

“No. We’re healthy, for now,” Puck says. “Kurt’s a reporter.” 

“Oh, that’s right.” Rachel sounds relieved for a split second before sounding weepy again. “Is there _anything_ I can do for Daddy?” 

“I don’t know,” Puck says honestly. “There may be some experimental drugs. He should ask about that. New York’s been hit even worse than we have.” 

“Why has no one heard about this? Why hasn’t this been front-page news?” Rachel says, and Puck chuckles darkly. 

“You’re not asking any questions we haven’t all been asking,” Puck says. “By the time you go to more than two memorial services for someone under forty in a single month, you want to start screaming at the big three and every newspaper outside San Francisco.” 

“Oh.” Rachel sounds defeated. “It was good to speak with you.” 

“Yeah. Give me your number and I’ll shoot you a call if Kurt or I hear about anything in New York, okay?” Puck offers. He probably won’t, but he’s only ever felt pity for Hiram Berry until he heard about him leaving for New York, and now he’s back to feeling sorry for Hiram Berry again. 

Rachel complies, rattling off her number at home and at work, and Puck puts the information into his Rolodex, along with Hiram Berry’s contact information, which Rachel insists on giving Puck as well. If nothing else, maybe Puck can arrange some discounted tickets for a last vacation for the man. 

Puck doesn’t know anyone who’s had Kaposi’s for more than a year that’s still alive. 

 

Puck knows that just like how he can tell when Kurt has something on his mind, Kurt can do the same for him. He isn’t surprised when Kurt comes home, looks at him, and then pours them each a glass of wine before ordering Chinese delivery. After the food arrives and they eat, Kurt moves them into the living room and looks at Puck questioningly. 

That was another thing they’d had to learn: Kurt needed to be left alone, to bring it up when he’s ready and never before, but if Puck is left to his own devices and not prodded, there’s a chance he’ll never bring it up. 

“I got a weird phone call at work,” Puck says, shaking his head. “From Rachel Berry.”

“Rachel Berry. From _Lima_?” Kurt asks incredulously. “The same one that thought we should have rules if we attended the reunion a few years ago?”

“The very same one.” Puck pauses for a moment, then continues. “Her dad’s sick.” 

“Sick?” Kurt says, then sighs heavily. “Oh my god. _Sick_?”

“Yeah, she said he’s been avoiding her, and finally she saw him again yesterday. Guess what he has, visibly?”

“Of course,” Kurt murmurs. “So she thought, what other gay Jewish people do I know?” 

Puck laughs, a little macabrely. “Maybe so. I think she heard about how we’re doing things better in terms of the support system, and somehow thought that would translate into better treatments or even a survival rate difference. I tried not to be too harsh, but I don’t want to give anyone false hope.”

“No, that does none of us any good,” Kurt says, sighing. “Sometimes this disease is starting to feel inevitable. Like we’re just waiting to hear about every single person we know.” 

“I know.” Puck takes a drink of his second glass of wine and leans against Kurt. 

“The worst part is knowing too much. Between the trips you book and the news I hear… I wish we’d be the first to hear or suspect _good_ news for a change, is all,” Kurt says. 

“I’m tired of booking trips to Central America and Southeast Asia,” Puck agrees. “I never thought I’d say that, but I think every single one for over a year has been in search of a snake oil cure. Some of the trips to Europe are, too. Booking trips to Hawaii—I’d like more of those. No one has family to try to visit with one last time there. No one has tried a pineapple cure.” 

“If we were less scrupulous people, I would start doing a series on how Hawaii might be the secret sauce to a cure, and direct people to book their trips through you. We could set up an exclusive deal with a specific resort who gives you a ‘deal’ on their package, even though it’s actually a markup from what they are charging now.” 

“That would be pretty awful of us,” Puck says, “but I think that’s probably what too many people are and have been doing. It’s awful. I don’t want to claim to be a therapist, but I am pretty sure they’d do better spending that money on trips they really want to take. Making some memories.”

“And even if people aren’t ill, that’s not a bad attitude to have,” Kurt says, sounding a little more upbeat, which makes Puck laugh. 

“Where do you want to go now?”

“I convinced my editor to give me something lighter. A series, for a few months from now, on the history of San Francisco. As part of it, I should really retrace a few of the main stops with regard to how people got here. It’s not _my_ fault that includes some beautiful areas that should really be illustrated with photography, is it? Luckily, I know someone with a good camera.”

Puck laughs again. “Write down the list of places and we’ll figure it out. Next month?” 

“Pending anything… yes,” Kurt agrees. “Maybe after the concert.” 

“Yeah, we should wait until after that. Just us, or you want anyone to go with us?”

“Hmm. Maybe just us, this time,” Kurt says. “It might be easier for me to take the few hours to do my research, that way.” 

Puck nods. “Sounds good to me.” 

 

The bad news keeps coming in the weeks leading up to their trip, and it’s Puck’s last day at work when things almost fall apart. Allen calls in sick, which makes Puck’s heart sink, but he already had to hire a temporary worker to cover some shifts and the times he travels, so he just pastes on a smile and keeps giving her more and more information, writing it out as fast as he can. Eventually, his hand gets tired, and he starts recording a tape of unlikely scenarios that she should still know about, since he won’t be reachable most of the time they leave. 

All of that done, clients come in fast and furious in the afternoon, eager to see Puck, he thinks, and then to ask about Allen, all before Puck takes his trip. They all look relieved when Puck tells him where he’s going. 

It’s nearly time to close when the phone rings, and Puck answers, hearing the familiar hiss of long-distance even before he hears a voice. 

“Noah?”

Puck sighs a little, trying to make sure Rachel can’t hear the weariness in his voice. “Hello, Rachel.” 

“I’m sorry to bother you again,” Rachel says, but she doesn’t wait for a response before plowing ahead. “Daddy’s doctors have put him on a chemotherapy regimen, which seems to be making him worse, but they insist that there’s really nothing they can do but treat the symptoms, which in this case of course is a form of cancer.” Rachel says all of this in a rush, like she can’t bring herself to take any longer with it. “Is that true?”

“Rachel, they don’t even know for sure what it is that’s causing it,” Puck says calmly. “They really don’t have any way to treat whatever it is that’s underlying everything. They’re doing the best they can, given the limited resources that researchers have, but I don’t think the doctor is being untruthful.” 

“Oh.” Rachel is quiet for a few seconds before picking up again with a long list of the side-effects her dad is experiencing, and Puck winces, picturing the Hiram Berry he remembers, until he decides that maybe the best way to handle it is to pretend that he doesn’t know Hiram Berry, that this is just another call coming into the Foundation headquarters, with a concerned relative on the other end of the line. He sits back down, falling into an almost professional demeanor as he listens, answers the questions he can, and finally suggests a few things for Rachel to do for herself and for her dad as well. 

“I’ll be out of town for the next couple of weeks,” he says, rounding up the amount of time he and Kurt will be gone.

“Oh, of course, I’m sure you’re so busy,” Rachel says, almost apologetically. “Have a good trip.” 

“Thanks,” Puck says. “We will.” 

 

Puck and Kurt’s trip isn’t as exciting as some destinations, tracing the California Trail from Independence, Missouri, but they do take in the Royals playing the White Sox, mostly to Kurt’s chagrin, and a local play Kurt heard about from someone in the Chorus. From there, they fly out to Yellowstone and spend almost a week there before retracing the route of the California Trail in a rental car. 

“It’s horrible to say,” Kurt says as they head into Utah, “but I needed the break away from home. I needed to be around people like those obnoxious kids at Yellowstone, because at least they were laughing.” 

“I know.” Puck sighs and takes his hand off the wheel, putting it on Kurt’s leg and appreciating the bench seat in the rental car. “Let’s go ahead and plan on going somewhere in July.”

“Other than the holiday with Finn and Annie?” 

“Yeah, something else at the end of the month. Maybe _we_ should go to Hawaii,” Puck says with a grin. “Or we could wait and save up for a few more months and finally head over to London.” 

“Ooh,” Kurt says with a happy sigh. “What’s the catch?”

Puck laughs. “No catch, but no Savile Row suits either.”

“Well, I never really figured that would happen,” Kurt says a little wryly. “Maybe a set of nice handkerchiefs, just so I can say I bought something on Savile Row.” 

“I take it that that’s a ‘yes’ on London?” Puck asks. 

“Definitely London,” Kurt agrees. “And my editors would probably prefer I wait a little longer before being gone, even if this has been a working trip.” 

“Did you want to try to get any of the film developed before we get back, speaking of working?” Puck asks. “We’re going to be at the one place in Nevada long enough to drop off some of the rolls.” 

“Maybe half them,” Kurt says. “Even if the lab in Nevada or the lab at home makes a mistake, I’d still have enough shots to choose from, I think.” 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Puck agrees, looking in the back of the rental car briefly at the camera bag. “At least they’re not getting too hot, since they’re out of the sun.” 

“Unlike you, you mean?” Kurt laughs. “I’ll drive when we stop again.”

“Sure you will. I’m not senile yet,” Puck says.

“What do you mean?” Kurt says too innocently. 

“You _never_ drive in the sun,” Puck reminds Kurt with a grin. “The whole way out, you’d drive in the morning, when the sun was in the east, and then you’d find some reason _I_ needed to drive the bus by the time the sun was coming in from the south. And forget driving west in the evening, that was _always_ me.” 

“You had better sunglasses and better vision with the sun in your eyes,” Kurt says quickly, and Puck laughs. 

“That’s a good reason you just made up on the spot how many years later?” Puck says. “Fourteen. Fourteen years later, you finally figured out a reason to say instead of ‘I didn’t want to drive into the sun’.”

“That’s not true!” Kurt says, almost squeaking, which makes Puck laugh again, and Kurt joins in after a few minutes. “Fine, that _could_ have been part of it.” 

“Exactly.” Puck moves his hand from Kurt’s leg, putting his arm around Kurt’s shoulders instead. “We should appreciate this bench seat while we’ve got it.”

“Did you want to trade in the Beetle?” Kurt asks innocently. “For a nice Buick or whatever this is?”

“I said _while we’ve got it_ ,” Puck refutes quickly. “But maybe we should rent a car more often when we drive long distances.”

“I can concede that,” Kurt says, pressing a little closer to Puck’s side. “Maybe we could take a long weekend at the end of July, since we’ll wait and go to London in September.” 

Puck squeezes Kurt’s shoulders. “I like the way you think.” They drive for another thirty minutes at least in the best kind of silence, the radio playing softly and Kurt having to adjust the station twice. “Are we bad people?” Puck asks in the silence. 

“Bad people?” Kurt echoes. 

“Leaving so often. Trying to forget. It’s not like Martin and Adrian can forget, you know?” 

“I know.” Kurt’s voice is quiet, and he sighs. “I don’t know. It’s not all that different than it’s been for the last several years, for us, but you’re right, sometimes I feel like we’re abandoning them every time we take a trip.” He pauses. “On the other hand, I don’t think I could keep volunteering if we didn’t take the time away to recharge.” 

“No,” Puck agrees. “I don’t think we could either.” Neither of them mentions that they’re running away from the chance that either of them could be sick; they both know it’s true, so why say it out loud? 

 

_Finn doesn’t call Ohio as often as his mom would like, but he and Annie are busy, and he gets tired of the hints from his mom about grandchildren._

_Still, he calls regularly enough, especially on Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, and it’s Father’s Day in 1983 when the pattern of Finn’s conversations with Burt changes._

_“Well, Finn,” Burt says, clearing his throat. “I’ve seen a few things in the news, the past year or so… about some kind of new cancer.” Burt leaves the sentence hanging, expectantly, and it takes Finn a few seconds to realize that Burt wants him to fill in the blanks._

_It takes a few seconds longer to connect the dots and realize that Burt isn’t talking about cancer, not really. He’s talking about GRID, or maybe it has another acronym now, and Finn almost drops the handset when it hits him that for the first time in fourteen years, Burt is asking about his son._

_“Yeah, GRID’s a real nasty disease,” Finn says firmly. “It’s horrible to watch friends and acquaintances die like that.” He doesn’t say Kurt’s name, or Puck’s, because after fourteen years, Burt can damn well say his son’s name if he really wants to know how he is, or at least that’s how Finn sees it._

_“Do you know if—do you know anyone who has it?” Burt asks after a few seconds of silence._

_Finn doesn’t answer for a few moments. It’s been eighteen months since Kurt and Puck told him about Ken dying, a friend in their first few years in San Francisco that they had drifted away from later. Finn has a picture of Kurt and Puck with a group of friends that they sent him while he was serving. One of the men in the picture is Ken. He thinks about how many people Kurt and Puck know from the San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus who are sick, dying, or dead: men whom Finn had seen perform in the past. He thinks about other names, people that Kurt and Puck see every day, or did, but now they’re sick, and everyone, Kurt says, is afraid they could be next, themselves or their lover._

_If Finn calls while Puck isn’t home, or Kurt calls Finn from work, sometimes Kurt will confess that he’s scared. Scared that he’ll look in the mirror one day and see a purple spot, and more scared he’ll roll over and see one on Puck. If Finn calls while Kurt isn’t home, or Puck calls Finn from work, Puck will talk around it, listing off all the reasons why he and Kurt are healthy and have incredibly strong immune systems. Finn’s known him long enough to know that it means Puck is scared, more scared than he’s ever been in his life._

_“I’ve met a few people, yeah,” Finn finally says. “There are a lot of victims in California.”_

_“Brought it on themselves, didn’t they?” Burt says with a cough._

_“_ No _,” Finn says, his teeth clenched, and Annie steps behind him, rubbing her hand down his arm._

_“Okay, okay.” Burt is quiet again. “And—dammit, Finn, you know what I’m asking.”_

_“You can say it. You say it, or you don’t get an answer.”_

_Finn can practically hear Burt rolling his eyes and setting his jaw, and Finn begins to expect to hear the call end rather than anything else from Burt, but finally Burt speaks. “What about Kurt?”_

_“They’re healthy. For now.”_

_“They?” Burt repeats, but it sounds more wondering than an actual question, and Finn lets it hang there. “Well, I’ll be,” he says at least a moment later, somehow sounding both confused and hopeful as well as still uneasy. “Thanks, Finn.”_

_“You just have to ask,” Finn says. “You only ever had to ask.”_

_Burt ignores that, changing the subject to the baseball game Carole is going to take him to later in the week, and Finn ends the call soon after. Annie is back in the living room, and Finn hangs up the handset before leaning on the kitchen sink and looking out the window above it. Fourteen years, and he wonders if it’ll be fourteen more before Burt asks again._

_When Finn hears Annie call that she’s going to the store, and after the door shuts and the car starts, Finn lets himself start to cry. What he doesn’t know how to tell anyone is that he’s scared for Kurt and Puck, too._

 

Finn has the entire week of July Fourth off, so he and Annie drive up to San Francisco for the holiday weekend and a few days afterward. It’s after dinner on Wednesday when Annie announces she’s going shopping with a friend who recently moved to the area, and Finn, Puck, and Kurt sit in the living room not doing much of anything. The conversation is light, until Finn suddenly sobers. 

“I need to tell you something.”

“Oh?” Kurt says. “What is it?”

“He asked,” Finn says, not meeting Kurt’s eyes. “He actually asked.”

“Who?” Kurt says, sounding puzzled, but Puck has a suspicion he knows exactly who Finn means, and he looks at Finn sharply. Finn nods slowly, and as Puck turns to look at Kurt, he can see Kurt’s eyes widen. “ _Burt_?”

“Yeah,” Finn says. “He tried to hint around.” Finn’s voice hardens. “I told him if he wanted to know, he damn well had to ask outright.”

“What finally tipped the scale?” Kurt asks bitterly. “Was he hoping I was dead?”

Puck winces and reaches for Kurt’s hand, squeezing it as Finn shakes his head. 

“No. But you’re not entirely wrong,” Finn admits. “He wanted to know if you were sick.” 

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him no, you were healthy.” 

“For now,” Kurt almost whispers, and Puck squeezes his hand again, nodding. The caveat they all feel they have to add, either mentally or out loud, but as more and more people get sick around them, a part of Puck can’t help but hope their continued health is a good sign. Not everyone is sick, and maybe the longer they go without getting sick, the better their chances of not getting sick at all. 

Finn just nods, looking sad. “Is there anything you do or don’t want me to tell him?” he asks. “I’ve never worried about it before, because I wasn’t going to volunteer anything.” 

Kurt frowns. “Does he know _anything_? Other than the fact that you know things, and we’re healthy?” 

“I don’t know,” Finn admits. “I mean, I’m sure he’s at least guessed that you’re somewhere in California. I don’t know—I said ‘they’re healthy’ when he asked. I didn’t really think about it. And he sounded really surprised.” 

Kurt laughs, his hand covering his mouth, and Puck snorts before starting to laugh, too. Finn eventually chuckles a few times before they all sober. “I suppose with enough effort, he could find out things like where we work and where we live,” Kurt finally says. “Probably even about the Chorus. So I suppose anything like that, that with effort, he could find anyway.” 

“That makes sense,” Finn says, then shakes his head. “I’m sorry. It sucks. He shouldn’t have to—you know.” 

“I know.” Kurt sighs. “But it’s not your fault. We’ve had you, the whole time.” 

 

_Finn creeps upstairs at 10:3o, stopping to listen for Burt’s snores before he carefully unplugs the kitchen extension. That done, he closes the door to the basement and then pulls the basement extension under a blanket with him, despite the August heat. The letter that Finn had managed to pull from the box before his mom or Carole saw it said that Puck and Kurt would call one evening at midnight, Ohio time, and then listed off three potential dates. One had already passed before Finn got the letter, and he knows the phone did ring that night, only twice. The second date had passed without a call, and now Finn knows he has to be ready._

_The phone rings at one minute after midnight, and Finn answers it quickly. “Hello?”_

_“Finn!” Kurt’s voice says, sounding excited, and a few seconds later, Puck’s voice joins Kurt’s._

_“Hey!”_

_“Hi, you guys,” Finn says, grinning. “How’s California?”_

_“We’re not there yet,” Kurt says. “As long as we make it there before my classes start, we’re good. We’ve stopped a few times to work for a few days, get more gas money and some bigger meals.”_

_“Yeah? What’s the rest of the country like?” Finn asks._

_“Bigger than you’d think.” This time, Puck answers. “We’re still having to be careful, you know? But we’re doing good.”_

_“Good.” Finn pauses. “I can’t always guarantee I’ll be the one to get to the mail first.”_

_“Yeah, we figured,” Puck says. “We’ll call again a week from tonight. You’re not going anywhere, right? As soon as we get to San Francisco and a permanent address, you can call us or mail us stuff.”_

_“Yeah, yeah,” Finn says. “Okay, yeah. So just a few more weeks, every Thursday night?”_

_“Every Thursday night,” Kurt promises. “We’re going to let you go so you can plug the kitchen extension back in. We’re doing well, though.”_

_“Okay. Have fun!” Finn says, before they exchange goodbyes, and he waits five minutes after the call ends to go upstairs and plug the kitchen extension in again. It’s crazy that he has to be like James Bond just to talk to his brother and his best friend._

 

After a long weekend up to Crater Lake in Oregon at the end of July, Kurt and Puck settle back into the rhythms of San Francisco, their trip to London put off until the second week in October. Volunteering, trying to spend time with friends, Chorus rehearsals, and their regular work schedules make everything busy enough, but behind it all is what feels like, to Puck, a constant drumbeat of illness and death. 

Puck starts spending more time in the bathroom before or after a shower, using the full-body mirror and a hand mirror, just to check. A bad workout feels like a harbinger of doom instead of just a bad day, and every day, it feels like Puck sees more and more people walking down the sidewalk who are so skinny that they look like they could break in two. 

Kurt spends more time in the bathroom, too, and comes home with stories about people who just disappear, even as he’s writing stories. The stories aren’t even about AIDS, necessarily, but with any story in the gay community, Kurt runs the risk of his sources falling into comas or dying, often with barely any notice. It’s exhausting, and Puck brings home more and more brochures about London and England in an effort to keep their home, at least, a little more forward-thinking. He starts bringing home other brochures, too, and Kurt brings home research material on the 1984 Democratic Convention site, because even politics feels more lighthearted.

Allan stops coming to work after Labor Day, and Puck reluctantly puts out a notice that he’s looking to hire part-time help. He still pays Allan for part-time work, because he and Kurt can afford it, and how else can Allan eat or anything else while he essentially waits to die? Puck can’t bring himself to be like the larger employers, firing their dying workers who have just enough time left to live to watch themselves be evicted, their prized possessions tossed on the sidewalk and even into the street before a friend or acquaintance takes pity on them and fills a few boxes before leading the dying man to their own apartment. 

It’s a scene that plays out too often, and Puck is thinking about it as he answers the phone mid-September. 

“Noah?” 

By now, Puck recognizes Rachel Berry’s voice on the phone, and he knows immediately she’s crying. “Rachel?”

“Daddy’s dead,” Rachel says, still crying. “He died this morning, a couple of hours ago.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Puck says, sincerely but almost rotely. One day, the phone’s going to stop ringing with another death, or that’s what Puck tells himself. Hiram Berry is the fifth death in five days, between Puck’s office line, Kurt’s extension at work, and their home phone. 

“The funeral will be later today, of course, and a memorial following, for his friends,” Rachel says with several sniffles. “I don’t understand why Daddy had to die. Why isn’t anyone helping?”

“I still don’t know,” Puck says sadly. “I really, really don’t.” Maybe the wrong voices are prevailing, or maybe the wind is still out of their sails. For San Francisco, it’s hard to keep pushing forward, thoughts of Harvey and the events of 1978 and 1979 never far from anyone’s mind. “Let me know the details about the memorial service, okay, Rachel?” 

“I or someone else will,” Rachel agrees, and Puck exchanges a few more courtesies before hanging up. He and Kurt will send a flower arrangement, or maybe two—one for the funeral and one for the memorial service. Rachel will think it’s for her, but Puck knows it’s not really for someone that they knew in high school and haven’t seen in years. It’s for Hiram Berry, and all the Hiram Berrys. 

 

“It could be either of us next,” Kurt says, his eyes closed and his head pillowed on Puck’s chest. “It could be anyone. I spent five minutes in the bathroom yesterday trying to decide if I just looked tired or it was a purple lesion trying to form.” 

“It won’t be,” Puck says, tightening his arms around Kurt. “We’ve come too far, Kurt. That’d be cruel.” 

“So has everyone else here,” Kurt says sadly. 

“But it won’t be us. I can’t think that way. We’ll be fine. Didn’t you say they think it’s spread by sexual contact?”

“Yes. They _say_ that, but how far back? What if we stopped going out and picking up other guys a little too late?” Kurt asks. “What then?” 

“If one of us has it, we both have it,” Puck feels like he has to point out. “I can’t think about that. Watching you watching me die, or…” He trails off, shaking his head. “No. I know it’s not fair to be demanding an out for us, but nothing about this is fair.” 

“No, it’s not,” Kurt agrees. “How many memorials are we going to have to attend? How many Chorus members are going to get sick? How many obituaries am I going to have to help prepare? How many clients of yours are never going to take a vacation again? When is it going to stop, Puck?” 

“I don’t know.” Puck sighs, his body shuddering. “Something has to change. Maybe they’ll be able to at least test for it soon. So people can _know_.” 

“What if it’s just too late?” Kurt says in a whisper. “New York’s number of cases is so much higher than ours. There’s so many people. So many songs, so many words, so much everything, and we’re losing it, Puck. All of it.” 

“I know.” Puck is silent for a long time, then kisses the top of Kurt’s head. “Where do you want to go after London? February, maybe?” 

“Is it weird if I say Walt Disney World?” 

Puck laughs. “Only if it’s weird that I want to go, too.” 

 

London is exactly what they need, Puck decides, and Halloween a few weeks after they return is another welcome respite for the entire community. Death is still everywhere, more people are getting diagnosed all the time, but for one night, everyone forgets that fact and has a good time. 

What they don’t know for sure at the time, though Puck knows they all suspect, is that it’s the last time they’ll go out anywhere with Martin. Three days after Halloween, Adrian calls just after Puck gets home from work. Kurt answers it, and Puck can tell from the soft sounds what kind of call it is. Kurt hangs up and sighs, looking at Puck. 

“Martin’s in the hospital.” 

“PCP?” Puck asks with a wince, and Kurt nods. Puck sighs himself, and he and Kurt fall onto the sofa. “We knew it was coming, I guess,” Puck finally says, and Kurt nods, but it doesn’t make it any easier. 

Martin manages to make it out of the hospital, though, and even though they all still know it’s a matter of time, the Sunday before Thanksgiving has their little group of six at Adrian and Martin’s apartment for an early Thanksgiving dinner. They all spend a few moments alone with Martin, and Puck finds himself not knowing what to say. 

“It’s okay, I don’t know what to say either,” Martin admits in a hoarse whisper. “I always thought… I thought I’d rage, rage against the dying of the light.” 

“You’re not going easy,” Puck assures him. 

“No, but there’s a lot less rage than I was hoping for.” Martin reaches for Puck’s hand, holding it weakly. “Keep pressuring the Chorus to do some Byrds, okay? I’ll try to nudge everyone that way.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Puck agrees, and he very gently squeezes Martin’s hand as he stands. “Bye,” he says softly, and it hits him that he doesn’t know how to say goodbye to anyone. He never said it to his father, or to anyone in Lima; they just left. They say “Bye” to Finn after a visit or a phone call, but it’s really more of a “Talk to you soon” or “See you soon,” not a true goodbye. Puck decides at that moment that he hates the finality of it, hates the answering understanding in Martin’s eyes, and hates the way Adrian looks. 

Tuesday afternoon is busy, especially since Puck is still using a rotation of temporary workers, unable to bring himself to replace Allan until he’s attended a memorial for him. Allan is still alive, and part of Puck’s mind likes to think and pretend that Allan could come back to work, even for just a few weeks. 

By six o’clock, though, all the tickets for the weekend have been given out, and it’s time for Puck to head home and finish packing before their overnight drive down to San Diego. They eat a quick dinner around the corner, do a little cleaning, and then head out of town in the Beetle around 9 pm. True to form, Kurt is driving, since the sun isn’t out, and after a couple of hours, Puck snoozes until Bakersfield. 

They switch drivers there, and Puck takes a few more stops than Kurt does, since he’s driving through the middle of the night, but even after stopping for breakfast at a diner, the two of them arrive at Finn’s just before seven the next morning, and Finn immediately puts them to work chopping and baking. 

“Remember,” Finn says. 

“I know, I know,” Puck says with a grin. “Don’t overwork the pie crust.”

“Well… yeah,” Finn says, grinning back. “It’s good you can learn, Puck.” 

“Hey!” 

The day before Thanksgiving and the day of Thanksgiving pass in good spirits, and Finn seems to agree with their unspoken decision not to discuss AIDS or most of their friends in San Francisco. After dinner, they sit down to watch football, Kurt not really paying attention at all, and Puck is startled when the phone rings. 

“Hello?” Finn says, and then his voice changes after a moment. “Yep,” he says, sounding almost forced into cheerfulness. “Our year to host.” 

There’s another long pause, and Puck notices that Finn’s not making eye contact with anyone, and it isn’t until Finn’s about to respond again that it occurs to Puck that he’s probably talking to Burt and Carole. 

“Yeah,” Finn says, sounding more defensive. “I told you before—yes, it is!” Finn scowls at the ground, hand tight on the phone, and Puck wonders what exactly they’re asking or saying. “Uh-huh. Saturday.” There’s another pause before Finn sighs. “That’s your decision,” he says, sounding weary and disappointed. “Yeah. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.” He doesn’t wait for a response before hanging up the phone, putting his head in his hands. 

“Was that Burt?” Kurt asks after about thirty seconds pass. 

“Yeah. Yeah, Burt and my mom,” Finn says, nodding and finally meeting Kurt’s eyes. “He wanted to know why they hadn’t realized we had Thanksgiving with the two of you every year. I get that he’s older and set in his ways or whatever, but geez!” Finn shakes his head. “Like I’ve told him, he has to ask.” 

“I take it he wanted to call back after we were gone?” Kurt says, his voice sharp. 

“I have no idea what he wants,” Finn says. “Maybe he wants to feel like he’s ‘tried’.” Finn rolls his eyes and stands up. “Ready for dessert?” 

Puck snorts. “Yeah, I’m ready to see if the pie crust is overworked,” he says, putting his arm around Kurt as they stand up and follow Finn back to the kitchen for plates of dessert. 

Puck thinks they mostly succeed at putting Burt out of their mind until after they get home on Saturday, and then Burt is even further from their mind on Sunday, just after brunch. 

“Hello?” Puck answers the phone, not really thinking about who could be calling and why. 

“He’s gone,” Adrian’s tear-filled voice says, and Puck squeezes his eyes shut, feeling himself about to tear up. Kurt moves closer to him, and their hands find each other, sitting there with the phone between them as they listen to Adrian cry. 

“What do you need us to do?” Puck finally asks. 

“Everything is planned. Martin’s such a planner.” There’s another half-sob, and Puck can almost hear the headshake. “Was. Was such a planner. Oh, God.” 

“Do you want us to come over?” Kurt asks. “We’ll come over.” 

“Okay,” Adrian manages, and Kurt and Puck get there just as the funeral home is pulling away. Puck shudders, and they take the stairs two at a time. 

Adrian is standing in the middle of the living room, looking blankly around at the pictures on their shelves and over the mantel, and Kurt immediately pulls him into a hug, which starts Adrian’s tears again. A few moments later, Puck hears Clay and John arrive, and he and Clay go into the bedroom while John joins Kurt and Adrian on the sofa. The medical equipment, including an oxygen tank and an adjustable bed, is still in there, and Puck exhales. 

“It’s Sunday, but they should still come pick it up,” he says, starting to methodically strip the bed and then pile the medical equipment on the bare mattress. “Adrian can stay with us for a few nights, and then you guys for a few nights?” 

Clay nods. “I’ll pack a suitcase for him, and we’ll get some other guys in the Chorus to help box Martin’s things until Adrian’s ready to go through them.” Puck nods; he knows the sequence of events. He’s been one of the people helping box things up, both because of partners unable to do it and for men in the Chorus who die after their partners, or who are partnerless when they die. Close friends don’t find it any easier to go through their friends’ clothes and mementos, which is why it won’t be any of the five of them in the apartment after the next few hours. 

By dinnertime, the medical supply company has come and gone, Adrian’s suitcase is at Kurt and Puck’s apartment, and the refrigerator is empty of anything that will go bad within the next week. The four of them escort Adrian down the stairs and to the funeral home before having dinner in the restaurant next door to the funeral home. 

When they get home, Puck makes up the guest bed with clean sheets and Adrian says he’s going to just shower and go to bed, a decision that makes perfect sense to Puck. After the shower stops and they’re almost certain Adrian is asleep, the two of them call Finn. 

After the initial hellos, Finn’s voice gets suspicious. “What is it? The two of you don’t usually call so soon after a visit.” 

“Martin died earlier today.” Puck says it quickly, because there’s no point in pretending or dancing around it. 

“Oh, shit. Oh, shit,” Finn says, and Puck can hear a loud sniff. “Okay. How’s Adrian? I know, dumb question, but…” 

“He’s here for a few nights,” Kurt says. “The service will be on Wednesday, and I think after that he’ll stay with Clay and John for a few more days.” 

“Wednesday?” Finn sounds like he’s writing something down. “Okay. I don’t know if Annie can make it, but I’ll be there. I’m so sorry, guys.” 

“Us, too,” Kurt says quietly. “Thanks, Finn.” 

“No thanks necessary,” Finn says, and they try to have a conversation for a few more minutes before ending the call, all three of them lost in their own thoughts. Kurt and Puck sit on the sofa, arms wrapped around each other as time passes. Puck knows after several hours that they’ll be exhausted the next day at work, but he’s not sure they could have gone to sleep any earlier. 

Puck goes through the motions at work, calling the temporary agency first things and getting two workers, because not only does he have the holiday backlog to go through, he’ll be out most of the day on Wednesday. That done, he works steadily until after the temporary workers arrive, and then starts making calls to other people in the Chorus, looking for volunteers to box Martin’s stuff. 

By the end of the day Monday, Puck closes the blinds and locks the door behind the temp workers, then stays at work an extra hour, just like he had warned Kurt, but Kurt is just going in the door himself when Puck gets there. Tuesday is more of the same, and Wednesday is just an hour at work in the morning before heading to Martin’s memorial service. 

The service is beautiful and, like Adrian had said, shows that Martin had planned it all out. It’s still far too final for Puck’s liking, surrounded by other members of the Chorus while they perform and then sitting with Kurt and Finn two rows back from Adrian. They stay long enough after the service to make sure Adrian has everything he needs before he leaves with Clay and John, and Kurt and Puck go out to dinner with Finn, who then naps for a few hours before starting the drive back to San Diego. 

“It’s all happened so fast,” Kurt says the next morning over breakfast. “Last year at this time, we were all planning for the concert and the holiday party for the Chorus. None of us were sick. And now Martin’s gone.” 

“If they’re right…” Puck trails off and swallows. “If they’re right about how it spreads, we’re going to lose Adrian, too.” 

“I know.” Kurt runs his hand over his face. “This is too hard.” 

“It’s not fair.” Puck sets his coffee cup down with a thud. “I want to rage, but I don’t even know who to rage against.”

“Reagan?” Kurt suggests, and Puck snorts as he nods. 

“Always Reagan, yeah. I just don’t know who else.” 

[](http://imgur.com/ihoV5OB)

 

Christmas brings a repeat of the awkward phone call in the evening at Finn’s house, with the conversation lasting only slightly longer before Finn hangs up. “That was Burt and my mom,” he says, mostly unnecessarily. “He had the audacity to say that I should ‘tell _everyone_ hi.’ Hi!” Finn says incredulously. “That’s not what you say!” 

“Hi?” Kurt asks, nearly as incredulously. “He actually said that?” He shakes his head. “Good lord, that’s almost nonsensical.” 

Annie looks torn between outrage and amusement, and Puck feels about like that, too. It’s the dumbest thing, but it’s so very dumb that it’s almost funny. “I don’t know what to think about being acknowledged again suddenly,” he admits. 

“No, me either,” Kurt says. “Quasi-acknowledged, anyway. Maybe he’ll start mentioning me again in conversation, since it’s not like random people he meets would know I’m _gay_ or anything.” 

Puck winces a little, but nods. One of the more hurtful things in Kurt’s life had been Finn’s realization that Burt was telling people he had one stepson, and no other children. Lima, from what Puck could tell, had been happy enough to oblige, pretending that there hadn’t been two boys named Kurt Hummel and Noah Puckerman who had lived there for eighteen years and graduated from William McKinley High School. Puck doesn’t really care, and hadn’t cared; Lima had been the place he met his best friend and his partner, and nothing else, really. But Kurt had loved his family even as he left it, and the realization that his father had, in effect, disowned him, had hit Kurt hard at the time. It was 1975 or 1976, when things had otherwise seemed to be going so well—personally, professionally, and politically—and Puck thinks that had made it sting even more. 

“I don’t know,” Finn says sadly, and after a moment, Puck picks up the remote, turning the volume up just a little on the movie. It doesn’t make any sense, really, that Burt suddenly cares. They’re not sick, either of them, but maybe it’s still guilt. Within another thirty minutes or so, the mood lightens, and by the time Kurt and Puck leave the next evening, they’ve wrangled out a promise from Finn and Annie to come up for either New Year’s Eve or over the long MLK weekend. 

January, with the exception of Finn and Annie’s visit, falls into an almost monotonous pattern, and just before Valentine’s Day in February, Puck finds he and Kurt in an almost awkward conversation with Clay and John about what they think Adrian needs to handle the upcoming holiday, considering how many flowers and red hearts will be everywhere. Puck suggests they send him on a trip, getting a few seconds of laughter, but ultimately they decide to ask Adrian himself. 

Adrian hems and haws, then tells them not to worry about it, that he’ll find something to do. It makes Puck worry, but he suspects that Adrian’s going to go out to a club for the night, and doesn’t want to tell them. He doesn’t tell anyone else his suspicion, but he thinks Kurt has the same one. 

Their own Valentine’s Day passes like it has several years, with Puck working over just a little and Kurt covering a couple of assignments, usually for co-workers who are desperate for the night off. It works out for them; when they take a trip, no one complains, since Kurt pulls more than his weight at other times. 

In March, Adrian shows up to Chorus looking different, almost defiant, and Puck speculates for about half of the rehearsal that maybe Adrian’s found a new boyfriend. It isn’t until they’re leaving that it occurs to him that Adrian could, in fact, be sick. He hadn’t looked for any lesions or other signs. 

“Is he sick?” Puck asks Kurt as they head home. 

“Adrian?” Kurt sighs. “I think so. I didn’t see anything, but we knew…” he trails off sadly. 

“We knew it was likely, yeah,” Puck agrees. “Maybe he’ll hold on.” 

“Yeah.” Kurt falls silent until they get home. “We’ve made it this far,” he says almost grimly. “We’re going to make it. Right?”

“Right,” Puck says, trying to sound confident in his answer. 

The calls keep coming at the Foundation, though, and more and more people they know are sick, including too many people in the Chorus. Adrian confirms their suspicions in May, though he insists he’s mostly feeling okay. They know it won’t last forever, not unless there’s a breakthrough in how to treat the virus. 

Virus—Puck thinks it’s weird that they know now, a little bit, what exactly has been destroying their entire community for the past three years. It doesn’t help, though, because that confirms that there’s definitely no antibiotic to try, no quick fix. It’s something that the doctors still don’t know how to fix or even treat. 

All Puck and Kurt can do is keep hoping, keep taking trips, keep working, keep volunteering. They’re just back from another trip when they find an invitation to the class of 1969’s 15 year reunion, along with an additional typed slip informing them of the time, date, and location of the glee club’s reunion. Puck looks in the envelope a second time, then a third time, before turning over all of the papers in it. 

“There’s no list of rules,” he finally says. 

“You mean you could hold my hand?” Kurt says, pretending to gasp. 

Puck tosses the papers on the table and laughs before kissing Kurt. “I could do that, even.” 

“The scandal!” Kurt laughs too, before initiating another kiss. “Of course, it’s still _Lima_.” 

“Yeah, it’s still Lima,” Puck agrees. “It’s a few months away. We can always decide later.” 

“I think we should go practice things we still can’t do at the reunion publicly,” Kurt says, and Puck returns the grin Kurt gives him. Their world around them, their beloved neighborhood, it sucks a little or a lot, really, but inside the apartment, Puck does feel like just maybe, they’ll make it. 

 

Puck can tell from the moment he gets home that Kurt has something on his mind. Kurt doesn’t say anything as they change clothes, and he doesn’t mention it while they have a quiet dinner at home. Kurt volunteers to cook, though, and he pulls out all the ingredients for beef stroganoff, which solidifies it in Puck’s brain: there’s definitely something up. 

They eat, have a glass of wine, and watch _Magnum PI_ , even though Puck knows that Kurt thinks Magnum is hot. Kurt doesn’t turn off the next show, but neither of them really pays any attention to it. The first commercial break comes and goes before Kurt starts to talk. 

“I was at the labs today.” There are enough different labs and hospitals that Kurt visits for stories that they eventually grouped “the labs” and “the hospitals” as lump places; it was too hard to keep track of which lab or what ward, even for Kurt, sometimes. Puck nods and waits for Kurt to continue. He takes a sip of second glass of wine before he does. “There’s a test.”

“A test?” Puck repeats blankly, then stares at Kurt. “Wait, a _test_? Like a yes or no test? A _test_?”

“Yes. A blood test.” Kurt sighs. “It still has a high rate of false positives. They need volunteers to help refine it.” 

Puck doesn’t understand what Kurt’s saying until a few extra seconds pass, and he sets his own glass of wine down on the coffee table. “So a positive might not really mean anything?” 

“Right. However, as I understand, if the test is negative… it’s negative. We could say for certain that not only are we not currently ill, we’re not _going_ to get ill. Not with AIDS.” 

“So we’d go in and they’d take some blood and then we’d find out… if we didn’t have it?” 

Kurt makes a face and nods. “I’m not sure what they do if the test appears to be positive. Probably a retest. But a negative test would be a negative test. It’s tempting, Puck,” he whispers, leaning against Puck on the couch, the television continuing to drone on. 

“It’s very tempting,” Puck admits, putting his arms around Kurt. He can’t help but think about how far they’ve come. How they made it through high school without any real problems. Their cross-country trip, stopping and doing odd jobs as they drove on Route 66. Arriving in San Francisco just two days before Kurt’s first college classes. The horrible rundown apartment they’d suffered through for six months before moving closer to the Castro, and then to their current place. They’d seen friends come and go, find the loves of their lives and then lose them, and watched their community become truly represented, for less than a year. 

They had marched the night after Harvey Milk and Mayor Moscone were killed, singing with the chorus, and they had been at the White Night Riots. They’ve gone to too many funerals. They’ve been worried for what feels like decades, even though it’s only been a few years. And now they could know. They could know if purple lesions and weight loss and worse are in their future, or if by some miracle they really have been spared. 

It doesn’t seem fair that they can know before so many others, but it doesn’t seem fair that they’ve lost friends, either. Puck doesn’t saying anything for a long time, occasionally pressing a kiss to the top of Kurt’s head, and then he finally nods. 

“Okay.”

Kurt nods a little and tilts his head just enough to look at Puck. “I’ll tell them tomorrow,” he says. “I don’t know how long it’ll be before they want us in there, or what time of day.” 

“We’ll work it out,” Puck says softly. “We’ve made it this far.” 

“Over fifteen years,” Kurt says, his tone lighter and almost smug. “And they say it can’t be done.” 

“It probably helps that I provide all those discount vacations,” Puck says wryly. “Otherwise you probably would have kicked me to the curb years ago.” 

“I figured it was the fact that my only real hobby is crossword puzzles, which are easily disposed of and not at all noisy,” Kurt counters, and they both laugh. They are unusual, and neither one of them can put a finger on why they’ve survived when so many couples haven’t. It isn’t love, or at least not just love: too many couples they know had ended while both were still deeply in love with each other. No, Kurt and Puck have maintained that, but somehow, they’ve maintained the relationship, too, and Puck can’t explain it. 

The next night is dinner with a new arrival at Kurt’s work and his date, and Kurt barely has time to jot down their appointment on the calendar before they leave, but Puck lingers and looks at it for a few seconds. Wednesday, mid-morning, so David can answer the phone and put off any big inquiries while Puck is gone. He tells David first thing on Saturday morning, and doesn’t explain where he’s going. It’s hard enough to explain in his own head, that the terror and waiting could be partially ameliorated. 

On Wednesday, they arrive at the appointed time, but the researchers have to put them off, rescheduling for Saturday afternoon so neither of them have to miss work and, in theory, nothing should come up in the lab. That settled, they eat an early lunch at a cafe and then head home for a quickie, something they haven’t done mid-afternoon in a long time. 

They’re lingering, trying to convince themselves to either go back to work or call in completely for the rest of the day, when the phone rings, and Puck picks it up. “Hello?”

“Puck?” Finn’s voice says, sounding confused. “Why are you home? I was going to leave you a message on your answering machine.” 

“We took an afternoon off,” Puck says, and Kurt stifles a laugh. “Why are _you_ calling long-distance mid-day?” 

“Oh, it’s Wednesday, remember? Once a month, we have a half-day on Wednesday?”

“Oh, right,” Puck says. “What’s up?”

“Did you guys RSVP yet?” Finn asks. 

“RSVP?” Puck repeats

“He probably means for the reunion,” Kurt says from beside Puck. “Tell him we have no particular need to go back to Ohio when the only worthwhile person to see already lives in the same state we do.”

“I heard him,” Finn says, sounding grumbly. “I know why you’re reluctant to go back. I get it. Really! But I still think you should come.” 

“We haven’t one hundred percent ruled it out,” Puck admits. “But don’t take that as any sort of promise.” 

“I know, I won’t,” Finn says, then Puck can almost hear him freeze, even though he can’t see him at all. “Wait, the two of _you_ took a day off mid-week? Is something wrong? Oh, God, something’s wrong, isn’t it?” 

“No,” Puck says quickly, cutting Finn off. “Hang on.” He covers the mouthpiece of the phone and looks at Kurt. “Should we tell him?” he whispers, and Kurt nods after a few seconds. Puck returns the nod and removes his hand. “We volunteered for a study.” 

“A study?” 

“They think they have a test,” Puck says softly. “They need people who are deemed low-risk, too, and they’ll probably do re-tests, so we won’t know the results for a couple of months, at least.” It’s not really true, what Puck’s saying, but if they _did_ get bad news, they might want the time to keep it to themselves before telling anyone else, even Finn—or maybe especially Finn. Kurt startles a little, giving Puck an odd look, and then starts to nod slowly. He smiles sadly at Puck and the two of them sit down as Finn continues talking. 

“Oh. Oh _wow_ ,” Finn says. “That’s—that’s good, right? If there’s a test, that means that they’re closer to treating it, right? Finding a cure?”

“That’s what they’re hoping, I guess,” Puck says. “So we went to volunteer, but the lab was swamped, so we’re going back on Saturday afternoon. We were just trying to convince ourselves to go back to work when you called, but now we’re sitting on the couch, shoes off, enjoying a nice conversation on your dime.”

“I should have called collect,” Finn says, then laughs. “But your answering machine would have had a hard time accepting the charges, if you hadn’t been home.” 

Puck laughs too. “Yeah, I don’t think that would have worked at all.” 

“Yes, we’re definitely staying home now,” Kurt says, rolling up his sleeves. “It’s too hot to go back out there anyway.” 

“You guys are such wimps,” Finn teases. “All that temperate San Francisco weather, you couldn’t handle living down here.” 

His voice is loud enough that Puck holds the receiver out between he and Kurt, and Kurt laughs, clearly hearing it well. “That’s why I have my much hardier brother to live there, so I can merely visit,” Kurt retorts. 

“I knew it,” Finn says almost smugly. “I knew it was something like that.” 

The three of them talk for long enough that Puck knows Finn’s going to wince at the eventual bill, and Finn only mentions the reunion another two times, just briefly. They put him off, because they really _don’t_ know if they want to go back, not to the reunion or to Ohio in general. 

“At least we were invited,” Kurt says after they hang up. He stands and stretches, reaching for Puck to pull him up as well before starting to remove his shirt. “And no one gave us a list of appropriate and inappropriate behavior.” 

“But it’s Ohio,” Puck says. “And not just Ohio, it’s _Lima_.” He leaves it hanging there, wondering if Kurt will address the implication: it’s Lima, and it’s Burt. Burt who didn’t ask about Kurt for fourteen years, Burt who still has never actually called to talk to Kurt directly. 

“Yes,” Kurt says quietly. “If— _if_ we went—I’d want the results of the test in. And I’d want to make sure there was no way that Burt knew we were in town.” 

“Finn and Annie wouldn’t stay with him and Carole, would they?” Puck asks, and Kurt shakes his head. 

“I don’t think so. Carole’d like grandchildren, and isn’t afraid to bring it up.” Kurt rolls his eyes. “Whether or not they have children, it’s clear that they’re happy. What’s her problem?”

“She probably thought Finn’d marry Quinn and settle down in Lima, have at least three kids by the ten year reunion,” Puck says with a little shrug. 

“That would have potentially been a disaster,” Kurt says, stifling a laugh. “Well, at least we don’t get asked for grandchildren, due to the biological impossibility and everything.” 

“If we did have a kid, he or she would be well-traveled and well-known around the city,” Puck says, not bothering to stifle his own laugh. “And probably be able to say ‘Whisked Away’ by age two.” 

“Child labor!” Kurt laughs and pulls Puck towards the bedroom. “Let’s just turn the fan on. It’s too hot to work, anyway.”

“You know, the advantage to your reputation for being so conscientious is that no one would ever think we skipped out on work to lie in bed all afternoon,” Puck says. “Don’t they still owe you time for July and the convention, anyway?”

“Probably,” Kurt says, stripping and turning on the fan before lying down. “Hurry up!”

 

The test doesn’t take long, just a relatively quick blood draw from each of them and they’re sent on their way, Band-Aids covering where the needle went in. Puck studies it for a few moments on the elevator ride back down, then studies the one in the crook of Kurt’s elbow, too. 

“And now we wait,” Puck says, a little overdramatically as they leave, but it makes Kurt laugh and breaks up the tension. They take the rest of the weekend to themselves at home, cooking all their meals, because the last thing they want to do is answer questions about the Band-Aids. They don’t know what the outcome will be. 

Finn doesn’t mention the test again when they talk to him, instead focusing on trying to get them to come to the reunion. It’s probably a better attitude, but the truth is, neither Kurt nor Puck is sure what they want to do. The fact that they’re on speaking terms with Rachel Berry again means that Finn wouldn’t be their only ally, and there is a temptation to return, showing that they aren’t sick, they aren’t in hell, that they have happy, successful lives. 

The problem, of course, is that they could be sick and not know it, and that their happy lives are still lives lived under a shadow. 

Still, Puck checks the fares for San Francisco to Columbus regularly, and Kurt checks in with the lab regularly. As they tell Finn, there are other issues, like the fact that Adrian is getting truly sick, and with Martin gone, taking care of him has fallen to Clay, John, Kurt, and Puck in rotation, and they’re never sure when they might be needed for an extra shift at the Foundation. They’re not sure how long the lab will take. They’re not sure about anything. They’re definitely not sure they want to be in the same town as Burt Hummel. The days pass, and they don’t make any decisions. 

 

_“I think everyone’s here,” Rachel says, a good ten minutes past the supposed start time, which Finn thinks probably says more about Rachel’s life than anything else._

_Finn nods, a little sadly. The invitation to Kurt and Puck had been sent with no caveats this time around, but he understands why they’re reluctant to travel. It’s that it’s going back to Ohio, of course, but it’s also that there’s so much uncertainty in general around them in San Francisco. When he’d talked to them last, on Wednesday, they’d indicated that they didn’t necessarily think they’d be making the trip._

_“Not quite,” a voice says from the doorway, and Finn starts to grin as he spins around to look at them._

_“You guys came!”_

_“Oh my god,” Rachel says, covering her mouth a little before crossing to Kurt and Puck and giving them each a hug. “Oh, you came!”_

_“Is that… wow!”_

_“I know!”_

_No one seems to know what else to say, and Finn ignores the others as he walks over to Kurt and Puck, giving them each a big hug._

_“I thought you weren’t going to come!”_

_“We really weren’t sure,” Kurt says, shaking his head._

_“But I got us last-minute seats on a flight,” Puck says. “Once we decided to come, it was pretty easy.” He shrugs a little. “How’s the party?”_

_“Good! Better now,” Finn says, leading them into the room. “And how’re you? Suddenly more settled?” he asks skeptically._

_“Healthy,” they chorus together._

_“Yeah, yeah, I know. Healthy, for now.”_

_“You didn’t listen,” Kurt chides. “We just said healthy.”_

_“Yeah, but—wait, _that’s_ why you weren’t sure? The test?”_

_“We weren’t going to come if we hadn’t gotten the results. Or the results were bad,” Puck says unapologetically._

_“You’re negative. You’re _both_ negative?” Finn asks, just to make sure that he understands what they’re saying._

_“We’re both negative. We’re _healthy_ , Finn,” Kurt says, smiling broadly, and Finn gives them both another giant hug. _

_“What is it?” Rachel asks when she looks over at Finn’s huge grin and Kurt and Puck laughing._

_Kurt sobers a little and reaches for her. “There’s a test being developed now,” he starts to explain. “Puck and I volunteered for it.”_

_“Oh, that’s good,” she says, but it’s obvious that she doesn’t understand what Kurt’s trying to say._

_“We’re negative, Rachel. We are definitely and unequivocally _not_ sick.” _

_“Oh.” Rachel tears up a little, then embraces Kurt. “Oh, I’m so glad. You have no idea how glad I am.”_

_“Thanks,” Puck says, and Kurt steps back, settling against Puck’s side. There’s a few blinks around the room, but no one says anything or even looks upset, and Rachel gives Puck a hug as well before striding to the front of the room and looking around, her eyes still filled with tears._

_“For the first time since 1969, the living members of the nationally-award winning McKinley glee club!”_

_There’s scattered applause, and the conversation in the room slowly returns to the same level as before Kurt and Puck entered. “How long are you staying?” Finn asks._

_“Just for this,” Kurt answers. “We thought about the big reunion later, but since we’re traveling last minute, our return flight is really too early to go to it, and we didn’t want to bite off too much.”_

_“Plus we wanted to avoid Burt,” Puck says quietly, and Finn nods. From what Finn can tell, the glee club reunion goes well for Kurt and Puck, and they’re still smiling when they leave, the two of them headed to the airport, and Finn heading back to the hotel to pick up Annie before the class reunion party._

_“I still think you should have told me as soon as you got the results,” Finn grumbles a little, though they probably know he’s teasing, and they climb into their rental car._

_“We practically did,” Puck says. “Less than twenty-four hours.”_

 

When Puck and Kurt return home after the reunion, Puck feels like they seem stronger. Somehow, knowing that they aren’t going to get sick makes it easier to get through every volunteer shift and even take on a few extra ones. It makes Puck feel like he has permission to stop cycling through temporary workers. Even though Allan has, improbably, held on, Puck knows he probably will be gone before the end of 1984, and Puck continues sending Allan the half-pay even as he hires a new worker: Reuben, freshly arrived from Knoxville, Tennessee, who is wide-eyed when Puck puts a box of condoms on his desk. 

“I don’t want to lose another worker, got it?” 

Reuben nods and agrees. “Yes, sir. Thank you!” 

It’s probably inappropriate, and after Kurt chides him for it, Puck apologizes the next day, but Reuben says that he actually appreciated it, and Kurt’s chiding had actually taken place in bed while both of them were naked, so Puck figures no one was really upset. 

It’s three weeks before Thanksgiving when Finn calls Puck at work, a fact that’s weird enough that Puck transfers to the back room extension. 

“What’s going on?” Puck asks after he gets back on the line. 

“I wanted to tell you before Kurt,” Finn says. “Burt called last night. He wanted to know if I’d ask Kurt if he’d meet him somewhere.” 

“ _Meet_ him?” Puck asks. 

“He heard that you two were at the reunion, I guess,” Finn says. “He said something about hatchets and the school and Kurt was still his son, and I don’t know. What do you think? Should I even tell Kurt?” 

“I think we have to,” Puck says slowly. “Meeting Burt somewhere, though. Even if Kurt agrees to it, where would they meet?”

“I think that’s your job,” Finn says almost cheerfully. “Travel agent!” 

Puck thinks it over during the rest of the day, and by the time he gets home, he has a tentative plan in mind, if Kurt agrees with Burt’s proposal. Kurt can fly into and back out of Columbus, just like they did for the reunion, and Burt can meet him at a restaurant in Columbus. It’s far enough from Lima that it should be neutral territory, but Kurt can get home quickly. 

“What’s going on?” Kurt asks after dinner, when Puck sits him down next to the phone and dials Finn before handing the phone to Kurt. Puck can hear Finn’s voice answering, and he sits beside Kurt while Finn tells Kurt about Burt’s request. 

“I swear, if he thinks I’m sick,” Kurt mutters at one point, and Puck nods. Most of the conversation is on Finn’s end, with a few questions from Kurt, and then he assures Finn he’s not at all upset with Finn before hanging up. 

“I don’t know what to think,” Kurt admits. 

“I don’t either,” Puck concedes. “I don’t think it’s a trick, per se, but I don’t know if even Burt understands why he’s doing it.” 

“What if I did agree to meet with him?” Kurt says. “Where would I meet with him? I can’t really ask him to fly out here.” 

“You could fly into Columbus, meet him at a restaurant, and fly back out,” Puck says. “I thought it over earlier. He’d think you were making a big concession, but really, you’d be able to get in and out quickly and easily, and pretty cheaply.” 

Kurt nods. “Okay, yes, that could work.” He sighs. “I shouldn’t even consider it, not after so long, not after everything. But part of me hopes, you know?” 

“I know,” Puck says. “Is there any story you could work on while you were there? So you wouldn’t feel like it was just for that?”

“Probably not,” Kurt concedes. “But I could always tell him there was, if he asks why Columbus.” 

 

 _Burt takes a deep breath as he parks outside the restaurant. He wants to see Kurt, or he wouldn’t have even asked Finn to talk to Kurt for him, but now that the moment’s here, he’s even more nervous. His son, his_ gay _son, flying in from San Francisco, of all places, for lunch at a restaurant in Columbus that Burt’s never heard of. It looks like a San Francisco kind of restaurant, Burt thinks, and he hopes all the staff aren’t gay. Maybe not every gay person is sick, but enough of them are that Burt doesn’t want them touching his food._

_He watches the people walking in, but he can only see their backs, and he doesn’t see anyone that jumps out as San-Francisco-gay to him. Maybe he should be embarrassed that he doesn’t know how to find his own son in a crowd, but Kurt chose to leave, chose to live a perverted life in another state. Burt gets out of the car and walks in, giving his name to the girl at the front of the restaurant, and she starts to lead him towards a table._

_Halfway there, Burt looks down the aisle at the tables ahead of him, and he realizes that he did see Kurt walking in. Nothing about the way Kurt was dressed, from behind at least, had suggested gay, but the man reading the menu at the far table is definitely Kurt, and when Burt reaches the table, he clears his throat before sitting down._

_Kurt closes the menu, regarding him silently, and the first words spoken are their respective orders a few moments later, to the waiter. Kurt still doesn’t say anything, and Burt starts to feel uncomfortable with the way Kurt is staring._

_“Well, uh, son,” Burt starts, then frowns at the scowl Kurt gives him. “What?”_

_“Son?” Kurt says sharply. “You’re going to go with that mode of address, when it’s been more than fifteen years?”_

_“You’re the one that left,” Burt says with the same scowl on his own face._

_“And you never gave me a reason to doubt that was the correct decision,” Kurt says. “Why are we really here? Did you want to make sure I wasn’t dying? I’m not. I’m not dying, I’m not sick, and the worst thing I’ve had in years was influenza over five years ago.”_

_“That’s good,” Burt says. “You don’t know that you’re really going to stay healthy, though, right?”_

_“Actually, I do.” Kurt takes a sip of his water. “We participated in a study that’s working to roll out a test for use clinically. I don’t have the HIV virus. I’m not going to get sick, so if that was your concern, please, go ahead and leave.”_

_Burt sighs. “I’m glad to hear that, but that’s not… that’s not why I’m here. I want to know how you are.”_

_“I’m well, as I said. Happy. I have an excellent career, friends, hobbies…” Kurt stops and looks at Burt expectantly._

_“Friends?” Burt asks._

_“I think you know exactly the answer to that question,” Kurt says._

_“So your career,” Burt says instead. “You’re a… reporter?”_

_“Staff investigative reporter, yes, and that’s not an acceptable response.”_

_“Come on, Kurt, you don’t really expect me to ask about your… you know.” Burt shifts in his chair uncomfortably._

_“My _partner_?” Kurt says, his voice sharp again. “Why would you _not_? Don’t you ask Finn about Annie?”_

_“That’s different. Annie’s his wife,” Burt says, feeling like he’s regained the upper hand._

_“I’ve been with the person you refuse to name far longer than Finn’s even known Annie, as much as I love my sister-in-law,” Kurt says. “It’s no different, not for us.”_

_Kurt thanks the waiter for their salads and starts eating, and Burt realizes that Kurt doesn’t plan to say anything else until Burt asks the question he expects to hear. Burt has no intention of asking about the pervert that convinced Kurt to leave, and that’s what he tells himself all through his salad and while they wait for their entrees. Halfway through his steak, though, Burt sighs and sets down his fork._

_“Fine. How’s Puckerman?”_

_“Puck is also doing well.” Kurt gets a little self-satisified smirk that Burt recognizes as the same one Puckerman used to have. “He owns his own business, actually.”_

_“Oh?” Burt tries to sound interested. “What does he do? Lawn care?”_

_Kurt takes a sharp breath and doesn’t respond for over a minute. “Actually,” he finally says, “Puck is a travel agent.” He has the smirk again, and Burt is suddenly aware of how close the restaurant is to the airport._

_“I guess homosexuals like to travel a lot,” Burt says, and Kurt rolls his eyes at him._

_“I really don’t know why we’re here,” Kurt says. “It’s clear that you don’t truly want to know about my life or my partner.”_

_Burt tries to articulate why, after so many years, he wanted to see Kurt again, but the truth is, he can’t even explain it fully to himself, he just knows that he felt it was important. The rest of the meal is halting and equally full of misunderstanding, but before Kurt leaves, he agrees that he can at least give Burt his address, and telephone number in case of emergencies. That done, Kurt leaves without ever touching Burt, and without a backward glance, and Burt knows he doesn’t deserve to have that hurt, but it still does._

 

Puck and Kurt don’t often travel separately; it’s one of the perks of owning a travel agency and being a reporter who can find a story in almost any location. Still, on the few occasions that Kurt’s traveled without Puck, Puck usually doesn’t meet him at the airport. This time, he does, arriving thirty minutes before Kurt’s flight is scheduled to arrive, and he’s in place at the gate by fifteen minutes before scheduled arrival. He doesn’t buy flowers or anything, but they do have dinner reservations in forty-five minutes, and he leans against a column as the passengers start to disembark. 

Kurt startles a little when he sees Puck, then smiles and walks towards him. “You didn’t have to meet me,” Kurt says before they kiss. 

“Sure I did,” Puck says, taking Kurt’s hand. “Otherwise you might not have known where to head for dinner.” 

“Dinner too?” Kurt smiles, a little tiredly. “If I didn’t know where I’d been all day, I’d think you were trying to break it gently to me that you had a one-afternoon stand.” 

“Oh, yeah, me and Reuben,” Puck says dryly. “How was it?” 

“He didn’t want to ask about you. He said that it’s different with Finn and Annie. He kept talking about ‘homosexuals’ and it was just generally awful, but he didn’t refuse to look at me. That’s something, I suppose,” Kurt answers in a rush. 

“Sure it is. Their relationship is approved by most people, though admittedly not all,” Puck says. “So I shouldn’t bet my frequent flier miles on Columbus, though?” 

Kurt laughs, a little tiredly. “No, probably not.” 

“Which is more likely: genuine reconciliation, or Finn and Annie finally moving to San Francisco?” 

“I’d like to hope the latter,” Kurt says. “But I can only think of three reasons they would, and we know two of them aren’t happening.” 

“No, they aren’t,” Puck says, stopping them on the sidewalk outside the airport and kissing Kurt again. “Maybe we should skip that reservation and get take out.” 

Kurt smiles. “Maybe so. Let’s go home.” 

 

_Finn decides that moving to San Franciscos might really be a good idea exactly two weeks into 1988, which is exactly one day after Annie informs him that at the age of thirty-nine, he’s going to be a dad. When he tells Kurt and Puck, they exchange a glance before laughing, and neither of them will tell him exactly why his decision to move is so funny. The move is finished in July, and Kurt and Puck throw them a housewarming party._

_Lauren Ly Hudson arrives a few weeks early, in September, and by Thanksgiving, Finn is certain that moving was a great decision, because Lauren has two eager babysitters in the form of her uncles. There’s an awkward get-together at Christmas, when Burt and Carole fly out to meet their only grandchild, but by the time they leave, Finn thinks that maybe, maybe Burt is starting to understand that Kurt and Puck’s lives aren’t that different from any other couple’s._

_The deaths start to slow down, eventually, and then the real treatment arrives, and Finn watches Kurt and Puck do the hard work of survivors, keeping the names and memories alive and still pushing forward. In retrospect, in 1987, Kurt tells Finn, one out of every two men in the Castro was HIV positive. Not all of them died, but the numbers are staggering._

_One of the other ones who didn’t have HIV in 1987 is Puck’s receptionist, Reuben, who eventually became Puck’s business partner when the business got too big. In 1998, Puck sells his half of the business to Reuben and goes to work for an internet start-up that deals with travel, a decision that Kurt and Finn think isn’t too smart, but by 2002, Finn has to concede that it was probably the right decision to make, with travel agencies slowly dying._

_Kurt eventually becomes an editor, still writing long investigative pieces from time to time, and for his part, Finn moves into management as well, as repairs become increasingly computerized. It’s not easy, he decides, to be part of the generation that has to change and adapt to the technology. His own daughter doesn’t really remember life before the internet, much less before cell phones, but Finn remembers how they all found out about Martin Luther King and about Robert F. Kennedy._

_Puck and Kurt are fifty-four years old the first time they get married, at City Hall when Mayor Newsom starts issuing licenses, and Finn and Annie help them save their spot in line. They’re fifty-nine years old when they decide not to get married a second time, not yet, in case Proposition 8 passes, and Finn and Annie and Lauren all agree that it’s probably the smarter course of action._

_Finn and Puck are already sixty-two years old, and Kurt turns sixty-two the day that the Supreme Court overturns Proposition 8, and this time, Finn, Annie, and Lauren help hold a spot in line a few days later as Puck and Kurt wait for a marriage license._

_After the wedding, after Puck and Kurt kiss like they’ve been doing most of their lives, Finn hears Kurt whispering to himself. “We always were just like every other couple.”_

_Finn’s pretty sure that’s not true. Most other couples wouldn’t have made it over the years, not through everything that Kurt and Puck have seen, but the marriage license says that, in another sense, Kurt’s exactly right._

_The little boys who had to hide in Ohio don’t have to hide at all, anymore._


End file.
